


Back To Back

by Crisis_Project



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crisis_Project/pseuds/Crisis_Project
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shackled, magicless mage strikes a deal with The Chargers: free her, and she will share what she knows of the Venatori and their experiments. And why she's been committing career-suicide by poaching from them. This is a slow romance between her and Krem, blended with action and humor. Reviews and constructive feedback are welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Poacher

**Blurb:** Hey guys, this is my first story in a long time. Had to give it a shot for DAI, since the DA world is gorgeous and filled with compelling characters! Constructive feedback is welcome, reviews are what I _**LIVE**_ on. Please donate to a starving writer near you (me).

Some of you may have noticed that this fic is also posted in ff.net. Rest assured, I am the same author!

**Tags:** Krem x OC, slow romance. We need more Krem!

* * *

**Chapter 1:** The Poacher

Chief was wearing the face. The teacher face - expectant, watchful, sharp. It was a contrast to his usual boisterous attitude. Krem consciously made the effort to keep from fidgeting and went through his mental checklist. True, the Chargers hadn't completed their scouting since they had been spotted by the cursed Venatori assassins and had had to rush into battle, but they had finished it well. Eight Venatori lay breathless, bloody and scattered among the rough terrain of the Hinterland campsite, all seven Chargers were alive and counted for. Stitches was patching up Grim and Rocky, Iron Bull and himself were next since they had shallower wounds. The thin drizzle and damp had made it easy to put out the fires in the Venatori tents and they had collected all written material for the Chief to go through for valuable information to send back to the Inquisition.

Krem thought everything had gone well, considering. Obviously they'd have to work on practicing their stealth and he already knew what techniques they had to focus on.

"Alright, Chief, I'll bite. Constipation?" Krem feebly joked.

The Iron Bull raised a scraggly, notched eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn't miss anything, Krem?"

Krem sighed. "We'll work on the stealth techniques. I'll ask Skinner to put us through the routine again, but with rougher terrain. We'll go through them over by that hill with the gravel until even Rocky floats over them like an elf."

The Chief smirked, his grin bracketing his beak-like nose. "That's actually not a bad idea, and good luck with Rocky. But I was actually wondering if you'd checked behind those boulders over there."

Krem turned and squinted at the lush yet forbidding Hinterland landscape, spotting the boulders resting beyond the camp perimeters by a slight hill. "Nope."

"Really? Because I spy with my little eye some iron bars. Might be a caravan. If you're having trouble seeing, being vertically challenged and all, I can lift you up-"

" _No thanks_ , Chief," Krem rebuffed, "I won't be your Sera-bomb. I'll go check with Skinner."

He was mentally kicking himself when Skinner lightly fell into step beside him. "Bull still training you?" She asked in her customary blunt manner.

"Yeah. Wish he'd stop talking about maybe leaving," Krem answered as they trudged up to the boulders. "Don't know if there would be any Chargers without him, and I'm too green."

The lithe elf nodded, limping slightly as they climbed the hill. Krem knew that her silence was normal and not necessarily an agreement or an opinion of his skills as a leader. Still, he felt a pinch of worry and resolved to complete scouting from higher elevations in the future.

They rounded the boulders and the slave caravan came into view. Typical build of thick iron bars caged over a wooden wagon. He frowned when he spotted figures in rough clothing lying in the wagon bed, stained in blooms of crimson and rust. So, recently killed. Probably belonged to the Venatori and slaughtered before the fight. They'd have to check to see if any were still alive, check the perimeter for guards-

Movement in the corner of his eye and the reflexes Iron Bull had smashed into him saved him from the slashing blade. Krem felt the breeze slice by his eyes as he ducked back, catching the other dagger with his greave and a grunt. Twisting away, he kicked the Venatori assassin back a few feet into the dirt. It moved inhumanly fast and kicked Skinner's injured leg out from under her and she fell with a cry.

He deflected two throwing daggers with his shield, biting back a yelp as he felt pain branded into his right thigh and positioned himself by Skinner, who had sprung up and returned fire. The assassin side stepped and launched at Krem, becoming a blur but this time Krem was ready - he threw all his weight behind his shield and bashed it into the side of the caravan. The assassin snarled as it dodged another round of Skinner's blades, pulling himself up by grasping the bars and coiling to pounce.

Krem only had a moment to note sudden movement in the caravan before a pair of gloved hands thrust through the bars above the assassin's head and dropped a chain around its neck and pulled. "Now! Now's good!" the cloaked prisoner shouted, visibly digging in her heels into the edge of the wagon and throwing her weight back.

The assassin yelped and scrabbled at his neck, twisting around as Krem and Skinner closed in. Krem's sword cracked through the assassin's ribs and thunked into the wagon planks while Skinner slashed its neck with her daggers. The assassin shrieked, then slackened.

Krem yanked his sword out and the assassin drooped to the dirt with a yelp. For a second, Krem thought it was still alive, but the prisoner was straining against the bars with her arms poking through, the chain connecting her cuffed wrists holding up the dangling assassin from around his neck like a macabre puppet. "He's dead, right? Please, tell me he's dead before he chops off my arms," the prisoner begged with an indiscernible accent, "I'm rather attached to them."

Skinner had already stealthily run off into the trees, leaving spots of blood behind. Krem knew she'd be up in a tree in a flick, scouting for any lingering Venatori like the assassin. "Hang on," he ordered, heading in the opposite direction. There was no way he'd be caught unawares twice today.

"Har har," he heard the prisoner grumble, "that was terrible, even for a Charger."

Krem bit his tongue and reigned in his curiosity until he had thoroughly scouted the area and returned to the caravan. The dead assassin lay in the dirt by the wagon, and Skinner was sorting through her lock picks by the door. The prisoner was slouched against the bars, cradling her right shoulder.

"Glad to see you got rid of the dead weight," Krem said lightly as he examined her critically. Overall, the prisoner had a thin build and skinny wrists. Her stained cloak was disheveled but made of good, tightly woven druffalo yarn, her tunic and breeches of the same quality and similar fabric. The dark stain widened and darkened from underneath the hand she had clamped over her right shoulder. Her empty hands were so stained with blood he had mistaken them for gloves. The chain was surprisingly long enough for her cradle her left elbow and hold her right shoulder comfortably at the same time. There were two other prisoners lying in the caravan with her, both lying in their respective pools of blood and staring lifelessly up at the overcast sky. Everything smelled like wet nug and rust. "Think you can walk out of the wagon? We have a healer who can tend to your wounds," Krem said, trying to catch a glimpse of her face from under the hood.

"Krem, report," Iron Bull said as he rounded the boulders. The rest of the Chargers were close behind sporting new bandages and drawn weapons.

Krem shifted his weight to his uninjured leg and tried not to think of the hilt sprouting from his right thigh and the throbbing pain. Stitches would patch him up soon enough. "Skinner and I took down the guard, I'm calling it mine. I got my leg stabbed, Skinner's got a slashed ankle. No other hostiles found. One survivor, just about to ask who she is. Seems like she knows us," he added with an expectant look at the prisoner.

Skinner paused from picking the lock to scowl at him, her eyebrows audibly snapping together in a vee. "We killed him at the same time," she defended.

"Actually, cutie here speared him a hair before you got to him, Stabby," the prisoner countered. She turned and fluttered her lashes at Krem, "not without help from yours truly, of course."

They had just enough time to register her face before they burst.

"Ugh, it's the _poacher_!" Rocky shouted in disgust. "The one from that Sevran arl's job!"

"And the rift tome job," Stitches growled, seeming to think twice about sheathing his sword.

"And from that Venatori fight on the Storm Coast last week," Dalish snarled, her blue eyes icily burning.

"Who, me? I'm nobody, just an innocent trying to live within the meager allotment in life the Maker has given me," the poacher said piously, her eyes wide. "You must've mistaken me for someone else. Now, if you'd open the door-"

"Not a chance," Krem snapped. Skinner had already stopped picking the lock and looked as if she were going to stab the lock picks into the caged elf's eye sockets. "What are you after this time, thief?" He paused, sizing up the caravan for any magical wards. "And why haven't you poofed your way out of there?"

The poacher stuck out her right hand with a wince, then rattled the silver chain. "Magical cuffs and chain. Can't even poof a candle with these on. How about you get me out of these and the cage, then we'll start talking?"

The Chief sauntered up to the bars and transformed into The Iron Bull, eight feet of bulging muscles and battle scars. The chained prisoner shrank away from the bars and craned her head back to match his eye. Her smart mouth was wisely still and quiet as he scrutinized her. "Two of the three times you've poached from us, you've stolen Venatori shit," The Iron Bull rumbled amiably, "why?"

The prisoner didn't look like she bought his act for a second. She swallowed and shrugged, her stiff movements undermining her nonchalance. "Gold. People still won't trust free mages and bounty hunting is fair game," she said, her accent wobbling into Orlesian territory. "And who doesn't hate those Venatori assholes?"

"Yeah, I'd buy that except this isn't like you, Ashe Fayrel," Iron Bull replied casually, "not according to my reports, anyway."

Ashe's fine eyebrows climbed her forehead. No matter how many times he saw it, Krem always enjoyed it when the Chief stealthily Ben Hassrath'd someone. He sat down to enjoy the show with Stitches pulling up beside him with his medic bag.

"Bounty hunter since the Circle rebellion, most notable hunts being Vishok of the merc band Gutters, Aegia of the Highlands, and the Great Bear of Redcliffe," Iron Bull listed, "proficient in fire and lightning magic, no specialization known. No history of poaching in your one year career until four months ago. And we aren't the only people you've annoyed."

Ashe shifted uneasily, glancing around at the Chargers. Krem straightened so he could see her face better. True of most elven circle mages, she didn't have a vallaslin, indicating that she had been a city elf prior to being shipped off to a Chantry Circle. Dull, wavy brown hair of about shoulder length, large eyes shadowed by her hood, pretty in the way elves usually were with high cheekbones and fine bone structure. She looked apprehensive, but her lips were twisted in a rueful grin. He'd seen those same lips call forth walls of scorching fire as she disappeared into the night. Actually, he was glad for the magical cuffs now.

"You abided by the code for the majority of your career, and bounty hunters live on their reputation," Iron Bull continued, "for a lone mage like you to suddenly turn on other bounty hunters - one of the few groups to welcome a free mage - and hunt serious guys like the Venatori, something changed. Very few people make a consciously stupid decision."

The caged elf raised her hands, baring bloody palms in a surrender. "You got me. Shit happened and I'm looking for information. The Venatori have it, and I've been hunting them ever since. You guys just happen to get there a tad faster sometimes."

"You poached from us and dented our rep," Krem said seriously.

"People have killed for less," Stitches added.

Ashe sighed, her thin shoulders sagging. "I've already cashed in the cursed amulet and the hand of glory. But if you get me out of here, I can give back the rift tome."

"Can we just leave her here? Or is there a bounty on _her_ head?" Dalish muttered from somewhere behind them.

The Iron Bull glanced back at his lieutenant and gave him a look. Another teaching moment. Krem stood up with a care for his newly-bandaged thigh and walked up to the bars. Maker, she had the most ridiculously longest eyelashes he'd ever seen.

She winked at him with a half smile, the pale daylight shimmering off her grey - pale blue? Green? - irises. "What do you say, handsome? Let's let bygones be bygones."

"Not interested," Krem replied coolly, "we want the journal you swiped last week."

The poacher scanned his face, glanced calculatingly at Iron Bull, then back at Krem and sighed. She raised her wrists and pointed to them, "you get these off, you have a deal."

"This is a bad idea. And I know _a lot_ about bad ideas," Rocky muttered from Krem's side.

Krem resolutely stuck his hand through the bars. "Deal."

She clasped his calloused hand with hers, the chain jangling as they shook.

The Chief smiled his shit-eating grin and laughed. "Great! Skinner, work your magic! See, it's funny because she can't."

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**A/N:** hey guys, please let me know what you think! I wanted to work in a slow blooming romance between Krem and a strong OC. R &R please!


	2. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the poacher hijacks into the Chargers

**Blurb:** Do you ever just... rework a chapter over and over until you forget what the main point was in the first place and it's all goo in your head? Cuz that's what this chapter was, and why it took forever. Sorry! Even though I'm not worthy: please leave a note!

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Deal**

"It's not working."

"Hold. Still. You're going to make me chop off your hands."

"But I _really_ like my hands. How else am I going to get into trouble?"

"Then you should thank me if I miss."

Sparks flew from the blade as the axe clanged off of the enchanted chain stretched out between Ashe's wrists, the rebuffing gust chilling the sheen of sweat that had popped out of her pores right before the strike. Her bones melted in relief and she somehow straightened up from kneeling over the broad tree stump they were using as a platform. It felt too much like bending over for an executioner, a label the towering Qunari seemed to wear too easily. She brought the chain up to her eyes and critically examined each silvery link. There wasn't a single dent to be found.

The cuffs weren't heavy, but they dragged on her arms and the chain hampered her movements. The icy sneer of the Venatori magister flashed through her mind, of when he snapped the cold metal around her wrists after she'd been wrestled into exhaustion. She tried not to remember the burning humiliation of being pinned underneath the Venatori assassin kneeling on her back or the earthy musk of the soil under her chin, and had silently promised herself that she'd dig herself out of this mess and fix everything before it spread across Thedas.

"You're getting soft, Chief! Best three out of five?" the tanned soldier shouted from a trampled Venatori tent, refocusing her back to the present. What was his name again, Craig? Kreh? She'd almost singed him on the coast last time. He stood by the crimson canvas, the red shockingly bright against the granite and scrubby greens of the Hinterland landscape, and seemed to dull the splashes of blood from the recent battle.

"Ain't nobody gonna take that bet, kid," the heavily mustached dwarf griped from the scorched crater which had once been the campfire. "Those bracelets are magic. Only way out of 'em is with the right spell or magic key. You'd have to cut off her hands or wait for her to die and wither away to get 'em off."

"So, do a lot of people tell you that you're morbid?" Ashe called, "or am I the lucky first?"

"I was being optimistic," the dwarf growled. He turned his stout back and returned to examining the ashes.

"You heard Rocky," the Bull's Chargers captain said, chucking the axe unceremoniously back by the Venatori corpse he had taken it from. He squinted his one eye at the shackles with a frown framed with stubble. "Skinner already broke her picks on those and even if Dalish knew, I don't think she'd get them off of you."

Oh, he meant the dwarf, Stabby and Blondie. Ashe mentally corrected their names and glanced around the campsite. Three of the Chargers were picking through the decimated camp, salvaging edible food and portable goods as well as tossing bodies and refuse into the large fire they'd started at the other end of the camp. They moved with ease and practice, exchanging few questions as they worked their way along. The elves were missing, along with the quiet, sandy-haired man.

Her last, tiny pillar of hope had crumbled with the last stroke of the axe. The Chargers had tried to free her from the shackles that the Venatori assassin had slapped on her before she could blink by using lock picks, prying, the common spell words that unlocked magical traps, even oiling her skin to try and slip them off. She'd hastily drawn the line at the dwarf's suggestion of Qunari blackpowder. And even though she'd known that brute force would be useless against the magically spelled shackles, she was still disappointed that the nearly eight-foot tall muscled captain had failed against such a slim chain.

Rumor was that he was Tal-Vashoth, a renegade from the Qun, but he never seemed like a mad beast from the fabled Seheron in her past or present observations of him. He was loud, boisterous, and liked to drink - when she'd tailed him before, she'd heard him called 'the drunk Oxman and his bloody sheep'. But the tavern patrons' under-the-breath insults would have died mid-sentence if they'd ever caught his quick, scorching side-glances. She kept an eye on him at all times - not because he could smack her into the Void with a flick of his beefy wrist if he so chose, but because her hair stood on end whenever she caught that piercing eye assessing her whenever she wasn't paying attention. There was something steadily ticking away underneath that 'big dumb Oxman' exterior. She was just glad that, according to her research, he was a big believer in the code among mercenaries and those who lived on the battlefield. As long as she didn't do anything too stupid, she would get out of this with her life and hands intact.

"No freedom, no journal," Ashe said, dusting off her knees as she straightened up. The world spun slowly on its axis and she had to take a steadying breath. She focused on the towering evergreens lancing up to the overcast sky and watery sun, the scent of the pines and smoke from the crackling bonfire, and hoped that the dizziness was just the combination of starvation and blood loss. Her cloak kept the brunt of the brisk Hinterland wind from chilling her and sending her into shock.

Maker's holy and hairy ass, his craggy face was actually _more_ scary when he smiled. "Not if the others get back from getting our things along with your things. And _accidentally_ find the journal in said things," Iron Bull smirked.

Ashe blinked and gathered her wits. "Poaching from the poacher?" she said approvingly. It's what she would do to get around the deal. "Your high horse is shrinking into a pony."

The Iron Bull's hatchet smile dulled a bit as he took in her casual demeanor. "It's not at your campsite, is it?" he asked flatly.

"Probably not," Ashe agreed cheerfully, "but it's nice of your mercs to get my things. I feel doted on, I truly do."

His massive barrel chest heaved in a sigh and he squinted into the trees. "Well, they shouldn't be going through your things anyway. Some of us have to have standards to earn a living."

Turning to look in the same direction, she said, "annoying, right? Sometimes you've got to- hey, that's not garbage!"

Ashe made a beeline through the stripped campsite, skirting around the dwarf and the healer to the tall Tevinter breaking down a crimson tent. He held a tall pole in one hand, about to toss it into the fire. It was encrusted with mud, but she recognized the shape from the distance all the same. He watched her approach, eyebrow cocked up.

The fire highlighted the wine-red hues in his cropped hair and the warm brown skin many Tevinter people shared. Definitely did not have as many scars as his captain - the only one she could spot was the one splitting his right eyebrow. His face was angular, but overall open, alert and young. No stubble, hardly any wrinkles. She pegged him to be younger, in his early twenties if not younger. His heavy-weight armor was sturdy, of good quality, and looked like it was both well-worn and taken care of. The sword hanging from his belt and shield were of equally good quality. The Bull's Chargers earned a good living for themselves.

He was scrutinizing her just as shrewdly as she was scrutinizing him. He didn't give off the discomforting aura of picking something apart like his captain did - he was softer, somehow. But apparently he did not like what he saw. "This yours?" he asked, his full lower lip tweaked in a skeptical little frown.

"Sure thing, handsome," Ashe said winningly. Cheekily.

He turned over the slim pole in his hands. It was as tall as he was and underneath the dirt it was matte black except for a foot of shiny, silvery metal with a violet sheen at the very bottom of the pole which ended with a sharp pommel. It was perfectly cylindrical, and looked very much like a flag pole. "What would you want to do with a tent pole?" he asked.

She eyed his very firm and too-secure grip. "It's my staff," she replied quickly, reaching out an expectant hand.

He looked from her to the staff, looking like he was trying to see the joke. "Where's the glowing skull, or magic gems?" he asked, waving at it the black end of the staff. It was just as cylindrical as the rest of the staff and didn't end in the traditional gemstone or intricate wrought metal. "Is this how you were caught? Couldn't get your mojo up with a dysfunctional stick?"

Well, now he was asking for it. "This is a staff handed down through the generations from Mythal herself," she declaimed with a flourish of her hands. The rattle and gleam of the chain was a nice touch. "And it has fallen upon me, as the last of my secret and noble bloodline, to keep it out of the hands of the unworthy, such as you-"

"Alright, alright, just take it your worthiness," he said with a touch of exasperation, "and get back to the Chief. The sooner those things are off you, the better."

Ashe reached for the austere staff and let her fingers linger on his gloved hand. "Why, Craig! I usually don't strip on the first date until after the dinner, but for _you_ -"

The Tevinter yanked his hands back as if her fingers were on fire. "The _cuffs_ , damnit. And the name is Krem," he added with a scowl.

Ashe was filled with relief when the staff was back in her hands and she stifled a laugh at his expression. Were the tips of his ears red before this chat? "Have I provoked your delicate sensibilities, Krem?" she teased.

Krem gave her a withering look. She had to choke back more laughter. "The only sensibilities around here is to get rid of you as fast as possible, poacher," he retorted.

Ashe clasped her staff to her bosom and laid her hand on her forehead like how the traveling theater actors portrayed distressed noble ladies. "Can my heart bear the abandonment?" she sighed longingly. "Pray, how can I live without you to find more long, hard, firm poles with me?"

He snorted then cut himself off short. His hazel eyes were lively with laughter and a touch of curiosity now. "Are you always like this?" he demanded, "I thought all you Circle mages had your sense of humor stamped out early so you wouldn't be tempted by demons or something."

"Oh, they try to bury it under all the books they can chuck at you," she agreed, straightening. "But yes, I'm fairly ridiculous. It's why I'm out here chasing frolicking Tevinter abominations all by myself."

"Can't say I disagree," Krem said, with a slight half-grin. She couldn't help but notice the bit of wry humor in his eyes and the lone dimple definitely didn't hurt. He really was cute, even attractive - she'd barely had time to notice it before, in their previous encounters. She briefly wondered if he had a wife or a sweetheart waiting for him at home, which was common enough among mercenaries who worked the hard job in order to support their families.

"Krem! The others are back," the healer with the Fereldan accent called. "Take a break and let's eat."

Damn, she was starving. Ashe cast about the smoldering campsite, hoping to see some of the food the Venatori had shared among themselves while the prisoners had starved in the cage. How long had it been since she'd eaten? At least two days - they'd captured her the day before yesterday.

She squeaked and almost jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her shoulder.

"C'mon, poacher," Krem said not unkindly, his eyes dancing. He jerked his chin towards the rest of the Chargers. "You look like you're gonna drop if you don't eat something. The others should have brought your packs. If you don't have food, we can share."

Ashe paused and looked at him. He was watching her calmly, waiting for her to step in beside him. "...Thanks," she said uncertainly, "that's generous of you."

The taller man snorted and started heading for the Chargers. "We're not assholes - I doubt the Venatori fed you guys much. But if we don't hurry, there won't be anything left in five minutes."

They walked over to where the Iron Bull was sitting on the tree stump, Krem slightly favoring his right leg, and joined the rest of the Chargers. The elves and the sandy-haired man in heavy armor had returned. The Chargers sat comfortably in a loose formation and each pulled out parcels of food. Ashe's stomach rumbled insistently - then she spotted her leather pack and sleeping roll in the middle of their circle. Surprisingly, it still looked whole. "I'm surprised you guys didn't try to cut this open," Ashe remarked, unlocking the pack by pressing her bare thumb to the enchanted lock. The essence spell recognized her and popped open. Thank the Maker, the meager store of bread and cheese weren't moldy yet. She dragged the pack to the outer perimeter of the circle between Krem and Rocky, then stuffed her face ravenously and chugged from her waterskin.

"Like I said, standards," Iron Bull said sourly. But he shot a look at the dark-haired and bare-faced elf as he got up and started walking back to the campsite. The rogue nodded her head by a fraction as he passed.

She caught the exchange. "But not for lack of trying," she murmured. "Sneaky."

"Well, you _did_ poach from us," Dalish said tartly, "it was ours in the first place." The lovely elf glowered at her with hard blue eyes over the meal and staff laying across her knees.

"It's probably on her," the dark-haired elf mused around a mouthful of bread, eyeing Ashe's cloaked torso. She brushed the dagger hilts protruding from the tops of her thigh-high boots. "We could search her."

"That's true. You could strip me of everything I own and I'd be ridiculously easy pickings no matter where I go," Ashe said seriously, dropping all pretense. It was hard to admit just how vulnerable she was, and every survival instinct she'd developed in the political jungle of the Circle and bounty hunting in Fereldan protested. But she was at their mercy, and there was no point in trying to hide it. "At best, I get picked up as a ready-made slave. At worst, I'm dead by morning. Actually, that might be better than slavery."

"Ain't that the truth," Rocky muttered. The dwarf sat in the dirt on her right side, drinking something malty from a personal tankard.

Ashe nodded. "That's why I hope you will stick by your code. To take surrenders, treat prisoners decently, and above all, to honor your contracts. Like our deal. Which has no time limit."

The Chargers froze, then collectively swore.

"But didn't we hold up our end?" the healer slowly asked. "We tried everything for hours."

Time to lay the cards down. "It pains me to say it, but I think the exact wording was something like 'you get these off and you get the journal.' And I'd hate for your sterling reputation to be marred any further." She proceeded with false cheer, "I am ecstatic to be able to travel along with you to the next village or town with a mage or smithy who's able to get these off as soon as possible."

The surly dwarf scoffed, even as he was buried in his tankard. "What, and wait for you to jump out of those chains and make off with the book and our coin? Not a chance."

Ashe arched a brow and pointedly looked around the circle. "Seven to one are really good odds in your favor. Although, I think your chief counts as three, so ten mercenaries to one. It'd be a miracle if I could make off with a single copper."

"You're slippery," Krem countered from his seat on an upturned crate, "and you stole that amulet right from under our noses in the arl's study."

"Stop, you're going to make me blush," Ashe said, fluttering her lashes. What was he getting at?

"My point," he continued, "is that the Chargers have worked by the code. Our word is our bread and butter and we won't start going back on it now. But each and every Charger here pulls their own weight. We have a mission and we won't risk anyone to protect you on the way. You fall behind, you stay behind."

Ashe nodded, feeling the tight knot underneath her breastbone loosen a little. It was only fair.

"Andraste's mercy, why would you want her saddled with us longer than needed?" the healer complained.

"And how much use is a magic-less mage?" Dalish objected, crossing her arms.

"All of my skills will be at your beck and call," Ashe said, bowing from the waist down. "And I'm not defenseless. I've also got some basic rogue skills, as you know. I'm a half-decent cook, healer, both with and without magic, and I've got some useful contacts. Although, I know you have your surgeon, what'shisname-"

"Stitches," the healer supplied, studying her pensively.

She stared from him to Rocky to Skinner. "Did _all_ of your mothers hate you, or-?"

Krem tucked away the last of his meal and stood. "I'll talk with the Chief. Ashe, stay here."

She blinked. She hadn't realized how pleasant his voice was before. "I get all tingly when you order me around," she called after him. Krem shot a disapproving look over his shoulder as he walked over to the Iron Bull, who was shuffling through a stack of half-burnt reports.

Dalish looked around the snorting dwarf and shook her head. "Didn't they teach you to keep your mouth shut during negotiations at your fancy Circle?" she asked, somewhat incredulously.

Ashe watched as Krem conversed with his captain. "Some days, my greatest accomplishment is keeping my mouth shut," she ruefully agreed. "You get tired of it after ten years in that political tomb, though."

"Trust me, kid," the dwarf said, "there's a time and a place. Or, it's your funeral."

She smiled at him. "Thanks for the advice, Rocky."

He blinked at the use of his name. "You won't be thanking me when you're gone," he grunted.

The talk between the leaders was short. Krem returned with a look of both defiance and resignation, which caused the Chargers to moan. "Shove it," he snapped at the Chargers. He pointed at Ashe, "you'll stick with us until Crestwood. Someone there should be able to open those."

Ashe sprang to her feet, elated. "Fantastic!"

"One condition: don't bother anyone else here," he gestured with a hand to the Chargers moaning in protest. "You will report and stick to me. Got it?"

Ashe grabbed and shook his hand. "Ser, yesser," she said, ironically saluting him with her other hand.

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**Blurb:** didn't mean to keep you guys waiting for so long. Again, thanks for waiting! Please R &R. =)


	3. The Stitches

**Note:** does anyone know of a fanfic forum specific to Bull's Chargers? I'd love to read and bounce ideas off of other writers who are as enthusiastic about the Chargers as I am.

Also: if you haven't checked this site out before, you're seriously missing out on some rib-busting laughs. Search for incorrectdragonage on tumblr! (I'd post the link, but it keeps vanishing whenever I save this document).

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**Chapter 3: The Stitches.  
**

"What are you on about, flat-ear?" Dalish asked loftily. The sunlight played over her cornsilk blonde hair and brightened her too-innocent blue eyes. Krem carefully avoided her gaze in case he gave her away; she was the worst liar among the Chargers.

Stitches shot a look at Krem; they both vividly remembered Skinner throwing a dagger at Dalish the first time it was used on the city elf.

The poacher only snorted at the insult. "Please. Mercs only like ale and serving girls better than gambling. And it's my death you're betting on - I should get a say."

"Even a rookie knows better! No one bets on themselves," Rocky insisted scornfully. "Besides, don't you know the odds are stacked against you? You ain't exactly a walking fortress."

A gold sovereign suddenly appeared in the poacher's hand and she walked it over her knuckles with a flourish and a smile. "All I'm hearing is 'gold and magic and intact hands, oh my!' when I get to Crestwood. I'll double your highest bid."

Stitches flashed a white grin from Dalish's other side. "Now, you're talkin'."

Their debate was cut short by a raucous caw overhead. A large crow hurtled out of the sky and snatched the coin from the poacher's hand. It bawled at the mage as it lit on to the safety of Krem's fist and cawed victoriously as the rest of the Chargers stopped in the dusty trail to laugh.

Krem smiled at the storm on the poacher's face and held up a hand in peace. "You'll get your coin back, butterfingers. In the meantime, Chargers take a break! We'll be back on the road in thirty minutes."

The Chargers continued to bicker as they settled on the lush bank of a nearby brook bordering a copse of trees. The watery, overcast sun dipped down behind its thin shield of clouds to the forested crowns of the mountains, giving Krem the light needed to read the message tied to the crow's leg. The brief message was written in the Chief's large scrawl: _Gone to meet Lavellan. Keep going. Try not to die - but I win 1 gold & 20 silver if the thief does_.

"How is Bull?" Skinner asked as she approached. The deadly rogue in the russet scarf had scouted ahead of them, as usual, and had doubled back when she saw the Chargers getting off the trail.

"He's on Inquisition business. We may not meet up with him at the Dragon's Breath as planned - works out well for them, since they just rebuilt and he'd eat them out of business. We'll continue our missions until he catches up," Krem said, knowing she'd pass on the word to the rest of the Chargers.

Skinner nodded, her glossy raven hair swaying in the brisk Hinterland breeze. "I still have that Antivan poison," she said abruptly.

Krem was busy writing a brief reply on the back of the missive. "As tempting as that is, you can't win by killing her. It's why we have the 'no murdering' rule so no one cheats. And we gave our word," he said absently.

"The dead and burned can't talk," she pointed out.

He'd expected this. The Chief had once advised him to never give an order that those in his command would not follow, and the mood in the Chargers upon hearing that the poacher would tag along had simmered between mistrust to mistrust and rebellious. But throughout the day, the poacher had obediently stuck by him and kept her mouth shut until Rocky had prodded her into conversation. Her ridiculous theatrics and stories were a captivating diversion from the usual slow montage of dirt, dirt, mountains, and more dirt in the Hinterlands. She'd even made them laugh a few times. Despite the gradual decrease in hostility, he had expected that a couple of them would see 'permanent displacement' of her body as a convenient solution over protecting a useless liability.

"Why?" Krem asked simply. Skinner wasn't one to mince words and responded best to direct communication.

"She is a biting fly," Skinner muttered, tracing her dagger hilts. "Too many old scars to be just some Circle mage. Traitor or bait. Both."

Krem and the Chargers had come to rely on her sharp eyes and canny sense for subterfuge. For someone who worked best in the shadows, she was always sincere. He wondered if she distrusted the mage for her clever tongue and charming demeanor and saw the combination as a useful farce despite the both of them being city elves. If she did, she wasn't alone.

"She's magically cut off, so the risk is low. If something happens, we have the resources to handle it," Krem said, tying the returning message to the crow's leg. "We're all watching her. If you see something else, let me know."

Skinner nodded and abruptly left to join the Chargers on the bank. Krem followed shortly after with a half formed plan to investigate the poacher's skills and history, dodging the angered crow after he'd snatched the sovereign back. It cawed and flew south, heading back to the Venatori campsite.

He realized with a little jolt that the poacher wasn't sitting by the brook. He'd half expected her to be chatting with Rocky and Stitches, the two she seemed to talk with most. They were sitting with Dalish by the water, Skinner was eating her lunch in a tree up behind the bank, and Grim was sitting a little above a boulder by some tall reeds. There was a slight grin on the blond man's face. The reason became apparent when Krem got closer.

"...Maker scorch all the Old Gods and blights to the Void and back for Andraste's skid-marked smalls, how _the fuck_ does this come off?"

Krem rounded the boulder and couldn't help the snicker that escaped him at the sight. The poacher had inexplicably gotten caught up in her upside-down cloak. She froze, her arms askance, before lifting a corner and glaring up at him from the mass of wool and hair.

"You'll have to look elsewhere if you want to play 'strict templar and naughty acolyte' or 'human lord and the lusty elf,'" the poacher said dryly, wriggling the cloak back down. Her smoky brown curls were a mess around her pink-tinged cheeks, and she darted wary glances between him and Grim. She crossed her arms and held herself tensely, wearing a pleasant but alert expression.

"Thanks, Grim. I'll take it from here," Krem said. The burly blond man nodded and returned to the Chargers, clinking in his heavy armor.

The poacher was eyeing him suspiciously. Krem held out his empty hands and sat down a little distance away. "Not looking to take advantage of your delicate sensibilities. We're just keeping an eye on you - for your safety and ours."

"Smooth talker. Is that what you tell all the girls?" she said with a grin. She was still tense, and he noticed that her pointed ear was twitching slightly at the noises from the group beyond the boulder.

"The Chargers never take advantage of women, or men," Krem reassured her. She may have tied their hands into letting her tag along and he suspected she used innuendo to bluff, but he guessed that she was remembering the common stories of wayward highwaymen and how they snatched women. "The Chief doesn't put up with it, and we've kicked out anyone who's tried. No one here will force themselves on you; I guarantee it."

She scanned his face and the rigid lines in her body relaxed a little. "Y'know, normally I wouldn't buy that sort of guarantee," she said. "But I've heard good things about you. And the Chargers. Doesn't make this any less awkward, though."

Krem remembered the strange position she had just been in and paused. "Did you... need to shower? If you have to do your business-"

The poacher threw up her hands and cut him off. " _No_. Uh, thank you, but no I don't need to go, right now. And you definitely shouldn't help me. Y'know, the Venatori made the chain this long so they specifically wouldn't have to- I'm gonna stop talking."

He couldn't help but laugh. He didn't know what was funnier - the topic, how her eyebrows flew up and bowed inwards above her beseeching eyes, or how she simultaneously seemed to lean forward to make him stop talking and seemed to cringe into her cloak at the same time. That the Venatori had been considerate of the bathroom needs of their prisoners was a bit humorous and surprisingly considerate.

The poacher sighed in defeat, the pink flush in her cheeks slowly receding down and yanked at the cloak on her right shoulder. "Before you laugh yourself to death, see this hole? The assassin tried to kill me and got my shoulder before you guys stormed the camp. I bandaged it earlier, but it needs to be sewn up. I was trying to get the cloak off and... got stuck."

Krem choked off his chuckles and scooted closer for a better look. "I can call Stitches over-"

"No, thank you," she rebuffed firmly. "No offense to Stitches, but I'd rather do it myself. Except, I need your help getting the cloak off. It keeps getting stuck on the blighted chain."

"How about Dalish, or Skinner? They're women-"

The poacher fully smiled and waved his offer away. "I appreciate it, but no. I don't know them, and they aren't exactly excited to have me around. I know you better, and I trust you more. Besides, it's not like I'm getting naked."

There was a churning of happiness and embarrassment when she said that; he wasn't sure if it was from the glow of the laugh earlier. He decided to ignore it by helping her get the cloak up and off. He was so close that he could see the tiny laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of her uptilted eyes and the shallow, thin scar that ran along her left jaw. He was pleased to see that the bruised hollows that had pinched under her eyes and cheeks had filled out a little throughout the day. He'd made sure that she had enough water and snacks on the road, and her creamy skin was starting to glow underneath the dust and grit. She'd looked starved when they'd freed her from the slave caravan, and he guessed that the Venatori had done exactly that. Against his will, he felt a burgeoning amount of respect for the poacher - she hadn't complained once throughout their travels from the campsite despite her injury and malnourished condition.

Underneath the dusty green cloak she wore a mixed set of light armor made of hardened leather, steel plates and chainmail. Nothing fancy, and it looked like she'd put them to good use, judging from the dents in her forearm bracers and the mended slash above her hip. He'd have expected robes, but bounty hunters needed better armor against their prey and the prey's family or friends, and robes didn't cut it against swords and pitchforks.

However, the set lacked shoulder pauldrons. Krem carefully unwrapped the stained bandage that smelled like musky sweet rust from her toned right shoulder and exposed a deep cut extending down to the muscle. "Why didn't you tell us? Stitches could've sewn you up back at the camp!" he scolded.

"I didn't want to hold up the group," she replied, her jaw stubbornly set. "It's not that bad. The Redcliffe bear did worse."

"You're risking an infection," he insisted. She sounded like the others who risked anything in order to avoid Stitches' stitches until he badgered them. "How do you expect to win the bet if you die or get the Taint on the way to Crestwood?" he demanded, exasperated.

She chuckled and he felt heat rising from his neck to his face. "Anyone ever cluck back at you, mother hen?" she teased.

Krem scowled, hoping she hadn't noticed anything different about his face. "Only when they were clucking delirious," he muttered under his breath.

He held the cloak and sleeve out of the way as the poacher assembled her potions, needle and thread. The elfroot extract smelled like crushed pine and was bitter and strong - she dabbed it into the cut with a wince. She hummed as she got to work stitching up the wound with her left hand after sterilizing and threading the curved needle. He was impressed - she was using her non-dominant hand and didn't seem to be hampered by the weight of the cloak draped over the chain. The silver needle darted in and out of the incision like a fish, underneath the skin layer so there were no external sutures. It was an interesting technique - he'd seen it used to minimize scarring. Nobody in the Chargers minded scars, so Stitches had rarely used anything besides normal sutures.

At least she wasn't a completely useless liability now that she's demonstrated some adequate healing abilities. He could almost hear Iron Bull repeating that there was never such thing as too much information. Krem agreed, with the added bonus that by getting to know a person, it was easier to broker negotiations by appealing to the person's morals and nature.

"When you said healing, I thought you meant magically," he mused aloud, breaking the comfortable silence between them as she worked. "Where did you learn how to do it... normally, for lack of a better word?"

"You could say mundanely, like they do at the Circle," the poacher said absently, never taking her eyes off of the needle point. "I learned from my mother. She was the hedgewitch and healer for Souveri'atisha."

"Soovry-what?"

She snorted at his terrible accent. "Souveri'atisha. Weary Peace. It's a district in Revas'sahlin."

"Rave-sailing...?"

"Reh-vas-sah-lin. It's what we call the Val Royeaux alienage in Elvish. It means Freedom in this Moment," she explained with a touch of irony in her lilting voice.

There was a faint undertone of pained hope in the name, and it echoed to some of Krem's childhood memories. Krem wrenched himself from that train of thought and cast about for another conversation topic, eager to get over the awkward pause.

"So your mother was an apostate in the Orlesian capital?" he blurted.

"It's more common than you'd think, especially in the alienages," she replied, her tone taking on a flatter quality. "She was the primary healer for our district, sometimes the neighboring ones as well if the other healers had their hands full. It always gets bad when it rains rabbits."

"Well, at least I can tell the Chief that I started learning a new language today," he joked, attempting to restore the easy nature of the conversation. "Raining rabbits?"

"Oh, that's slang for when a bunch of elves are taken down at once. In Revas'sahlin, it's usually because of sickness, fires, or when the buildings broke. The rumors are true, you know. The buildings are so high the sun only reaches the vhenadahl - the alienage tree - at noon. No one can actually pay for good supplies let alone dwarves for proper construction, so buildings fall apart a lot. That's when we literally get raining rabbits," the poacher explained matter-of-factly.

Krem felt a little sickened at the bloody image in his head, and indignant for the elves. He wasn't the most political person in Thedas, but the alienages reminded him far too much of the squalid and chaotic slave markets back in Tevinter. And slaves with rich masters usually lived in far better conditions than what Ashe and Skinner had described. Although the Chargers rarely worked in places large enough to have an alienage, they always made his skin crawl and his heart break to see the conditions in which they lived. Skinner flatly refused to linger in those areas, preferring to complete her assigned task and then wait for the rest of the Chargers after the job was done. He mentally shook himself and refocused on gleaning more information. "You said your mother was an apostate. How did you learn the mundane methods?"

She had been watching him think, her face impassive. She returned to pulling the wound edges together. "Her talents weren't tremendous beyond basic tissue and bone healing. She used splints, sutures, and poultices for the rest of it. I helped her in her clinic when she needed a set of hands. Often kept me out of trouble." She tied then cut the thread off neatly with her teeth. The movement caught his eye - her deft hands were etched with numerous scars.

"How often does a healer get knifed?" Krem asked, his interest piqued. This must be what Skinner had mentioned.

The poacher flashed a wry grin at him as she dabbed a bit of something from a bottle on to the stitched cut."You're quite curious. Is this interrogation for your tactical strategies, oh fearless leader, or for... pleasure?"

He gave her a withering look as he peeled off his gauntlets and gloves. He had a feeling that his face may always look this way when he talked to her. "Glad to see you're back to normal," he commented, secretly pleased that her spirit had brightened even as she dodged the question. He threaded a straight needle that he'd pulled from his belt pouch that held his emergency sewing supplies. "And who says you're my type, poacher? Hold still and wear that thing normally - I'll fix the rip."

"Ser, yesser."

The poacher bandaged her shoulder, flipped her cloak back and wore it the right way out, then sat still obediently while holding her hair aside. Bits of talk and laughter drifted over from the other side of the boulder on the breeze, as well as chirps and shushing whispers from the reeds. The sun was dipping down to the horizon, and he guessed that they'd have to make camp in another couple hours.

"To answer your question," he said as he started to sew the fabric, "I like to know a bit about those I'm responsible for. Not just because the road can get boring, because it does, _a lot_ , but I need to know what tools I have if something happens. You've shown some of your skills and I think you'll be a useful asset if we get into any trouble on the way up to Crestwood." Provided that she survived the battles, that is. He didn't expect a magicless mage to be very useful in a fight beyond getting a few whacks in with their stick. She'd probably get herself killed in a serious scramble.

"You're... very pragmatic, Krem," the poacher said slowly. He looked up from tying off the knot to see her grinning at him with cautious eyes. There was a genuine air about her, without the usual flippant looks or comments. "It's not often an elven mage and healer is called useful."

The quiet respect in her tone made him squirm a bit inside. "Well," he said gruffly, busying himself again with the thread, "you've seen the Chargers. We take in anyone who can keep up their end, doesn't matter who or what they are. We're all strange in some way." Maker, did the sun come out? Everything was a bit brighter and warmer.

He stilled from tying off the knot when she laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Call me Ashe. And I just wanted to say thank you, Krem," she said with a slight smile. "You-"

A series of low-pitched whistles cut through the air and he was immediately on his feet with this heart thundering in his ears, tucking his needle away and shucking his pack. The rest of the Chargers jogged over to him, ditching their packs beside the boulder and unsheathing their weapons. Rocky headed into the treeline, assembling traps as he vanished into the foliage and fog started to roil from the brook as Dalish called fire to the water banks.

"Ashe, stay down by the reeds," he ordered. "There are bandits coming from the trees. You'll stay in the cover of the fog with Rocky when he gets back. Stitches will be close by to help defend. Stay put, got it?"

He didn't wait for a reply. He donned his shield and unsheathed his sword, heading up the bank and putting the water and slope behind him for better footing. Grim joined him on his right, and he knew Skinner was hidden in the trees waiting to spring an ambush.

The battle was a controlled blur, as they usually were. Thirteen bandits burst from the trees, shouting warcries. Krem tangled with two swordsmen while Grim bellowed and hacked at two others. A thunderous crack let him know that Dalish had frozen and shattered a bandit with her signature move. He parried a bandit's blackened sword and ran him through and bashed the other with his shield. He gave him the mercy stroke before the bandit could get back up. Panting, he paused to look around. A gust of wind cut a swathe through Dalish's magical fog and Krem could momentarily see the battlefield clearly. Dalish was magically warring with a disheveled bandit wielding a staff, Rocky was laying another trap behind the bandit Grim was pushing back with his sword, and Skinner was a shadow in the fog. He guessed that the scuffle wouldn't last much longer - the bandits weren't professionals and might as well wield toothpicks. Poor, desperate bastards.

"They've got a slave!" a bandit shouted excitedly, looking right at Ashe who was peeking out of the reeds. Her shackles glinted in the sunlight. He charged from the fog to Krem's left, only dodging Krem's sword at the last chance. The bandit was large and beefy, and danced in and out of Krem's reach, wielding two axes. His footwork hinted at some time spent in an army.

There was a shout. Krem chanced a glance and saw Stitches fall. A mounted bandit wielding a sword was bearing down on the downed Fereldan and Krem felt his blood turn cold. He shouted in pain as the bandit drove an axe down into Krem's thigh in that moment of distraction, and he roared as he fought back knowing that he'd be too slow to reach Stitches in time.

The horse shrieked and it raced past him without its rider, streaming blood from a long laceration in its flank. The bandit had to dodge it and gave Krem just enough reach to snake his sword past his axes and through his throat. The gush of scarlet blood told him it was fatal - he yanked his sword back and whirled to run to aid the Chargers' healer.

Except Ashe and Rocky were already there. Rocky was throwing bombs at a bandit dancing just beyond the caltrops strewn about the packs. Ashe had planted herself right by the healer, keeping another bandit at bay with her staff. Her movements were slow, too slow to block the bandit's thrust and she barely sidestepped in time. In that twist, she did something to the staff and a silvery spear as long as her forearm sprung out of the top - and she use the momentum to skewer the bandit from his flank, pegging him down to the dirt a few feet away from Stitches.

Krem ran over to them, uncaring of the caltrops underneath his iron-plated boots. He barely noted that the other bandit's torso exploded when a bomb found its target; he was focused on the long arrow sticking up from Stitches' chest. The healer was gasping shallowly, eyes rolled back and sweat pouring from his ashen skin. Ashe was using a dagger to rip away the leather armor and shirt the arrow had punctured through. Krem knelt to help, and quickly the two of them bared his chest.

Surprisingly, there wasn't a lot of blood pooled around the head of the arrow, but air and blood bubbled around it. The arrow had lodged itself underneath his right collar bone. The torn skin around it was taking on a yellowish hue.

"Hurlock fletching," Skinner commented distantly. "That's a darkspawn arrow. Salvaged."

"Dalish, do something!" Rocky snapped from Krem's left side.

"You know I can only heal skin!" she snapped back bitterly. "I'm about as useful for this as a legless halla!"

"There's no cure for the taint," Skinner added hollowly.

"What're we gon' tell his wife?" the dwarf moaned.

"No one is going to tell her anything besides 'hello, here's your husband back and congrats on the baby'," Krem shouted. He screwed his emotions tightly into a little pit and turned to Ashe. "You're a healer. Can you heal him?"

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**Note:** please let me know if you have constructive feedback! Or even your favorite slow-burning romance =)


	4. The Thanks

**Note:** So I am totally guilty of editing chapters over and over, even after posting them. If you were thinking of getting new glasses after re-reading the story, my bad! It's not you, it's totally me.

Also, I'm SO SO SORRY for taking forever with this! But to make up for it, it's extra long.

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**Chapter 4: The Thanks**

Rattling, harsh breaths became Ashe's measurement of time. Stitches lay on the soggy, grassy bank beside her, his chestnut-brown skin slowly paling, the undersides of his eyes becoming tinged with lavender. The crudely-made black arrow bobbed up and down almost absurdly with every breath the man heaved, scarlet globules bubbling up around where the arrow had sunk into his chest.

Lyrium potions, breathing elixer, cure for warts - useless, useless, useless. Ashe set aside the elfroot extract and dried crystal grace for their ability to fight infections and kept digging through her pack, half listening to the Chargers argue until Krem started shouting.

"No one is gonna tell her anything besides 'hello, here's your husband back and congrats on the baby'," the Charger roared. She looked up and flinched when he stared right at her, pinned under the force of his tightly leashed control. "You're a healer. Can you heal him?" he asked.

Worry furrowed his brows and the glint of ease and humor she had started to get accustomed to was gone. It was a hair easier to turn back to hunting through her pack than to hold his painfully hopeful eyes. "I'm looking for-"

"You know Glen. He hates the taint," Skinner interrupted, advancing on the downed Fereldan man with a blade half drawn. Her face was set, determined. "He'd rather die than turn." She only halted a few paces away from Ashe and Stitches when the broad, sandy-haired bulwark of a man planted himself firmly in her path, hands on his own weapons. She couldn't see their faces, but she heard Skinner bite out, " _move_ , Grim. You know it's true. It'd be a mercy."

"It might not be the taint," Dalish objected fiercely, joining their tense standoff. "We don't know if the arrow-"

"You tellin' me that ain't hurlock fletching?" Rocky spat, stabbing a stubby finger at the black arrow pointing skyward from the unconscious healer's chest. "We were always sprayed with a fuckload of those til we looked like porcupines down in the Deep Roads. Lemme tell you - that's a fucking darkspawn arrow and they're not fuckin' known for being _hygienic_."

"Even if it were, we don't know if it's tainted him!" Dalish insisted, her voice shrilly climbing an octave as she faced off against the dwarf. "We have to know for sure before we _kill_ -"

"No one is killing Glen," Krem ordered just as Ashe victoriously shouted, "he doesn't have the taint!"

Everyone turned to stare at her. Ashe held a small vial and peered intently at the blood spilling from the embedded arrow head. "The arrow's pierced the pleural cavity, so he's at risk of infection and hemothorax, but he doesn't have the taint."

"How do you know?" Krem asked, briskly sidestepping Grim and kneeling beside her.

She held up the vial and its muddy blue contents, relief making her hands tremble. "This stuff reacts to the taint by making the blood sample froth white. See this? It hasn't frothed at all and he's not showing the classic signs - y'know, the chalky grey skin, blackening veins, the rotting smell, the grey films in the eyes. As far as I can tell, he's not tainted."

Ashe had wondered if Skinner and Rocky had hoped that the healer was tainted - their eagerness to diagnose and condemn him was alarming. But the palpable relief that broke over their faces told her differently, and made what she had to say next a bit harder. "That was the good news. The bad news is that he's probably been poisoned - see the yellowish hue in his skin?"

The elven rogue approached, making a face. "Smells like deathroot poison," she said, grabbing her pack from the pile by the boulder and handing a small vial from her pack to Dalish.

"Actually, I think the first thing we need to do is get that arrow out," Ashe muttered, ignoring Skinner's snub. The poisoned arrow posed a number of emergencies and complications and she didn't have her magic to assess or heal him. "He'll get atelactasis due to hemothorax if it's not sealed soon. His second rib may be fractured and I hope the subclavian artery hasn't been nicked. We'll have to wait for him to wake to drink the antidote. Might get an infection down the road. What supplies do I even have?" she muttered to herself. She bitterly wished more than ever that she could use her magic and that she hadn't been caught by the Venatori in the first place-

Krem clasped her shoulder and Ashe peeled her eyes away from the bloody bubbles, her heart thundering in her ears and she was sweating harder than when the bandits had attacked. "Tell me what you need," he said simply, grounding her back into reality. She didn't think the hint of faith in his tone was real, but that didn't matter - it hammered iron into her spine and hardened her resolve.

She took a deep breath and organized her priorities. "Shelter, warmth, clean water," she rattled off, "and I'd also like Dalish's help."

Krem issued orders and the Chargers were in motion.

Ashe glimpsed bare feet in her periphery before Dalish kneeled beside her, steadying herself with her staff and glaring at her defiantly. "Look, poacher," she began, glancing between her and Stitches' face, "I- I don't know much. I learned how to heal skin, but that's the farthest I got with healing magic."

Ashe was already lining up her vials within reach next to Stitches, trying not to knock them over with the shackle chain. "Do you know how muscles are structured? I mean, how the muscle fibers weave together at the tiniest level, or how serous membranes knit together to slide-"

"You _aren't listening_ ," the Dalish elf bit out tightly, her skin mottling red from her ivory neck up to flush her face with frustration, "I don't know about membranes or, or _fibers_. I wasn't the First of the clan so I didn't learn about all this and I had to leave before they got more scared than they already were. I barely had enough time to learn about skin before I got kicked out, alright?"

She flung the words at Ashe as if saying them faster would mask the undercurrent of hot shame. The taller elf glared at her, shoulders tensed up. Ashe recognized the scared apprentice behind the vallaslin.

"How skilled are you with healing skin?" Ashe asked carefully.

"Good enough," Dalish said frostily, "no one's complained. I think."

She looked up at Dalish from across Stitches' chest and smiled. The blonde elf blinked, her glare softening into a question. "First or not, I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't be able to prevent infections half as well if you weren't around," Ashe said truthfully. "Here's the plan: we'll extract the arrow, I'll infuse some anti-infection elixers into the wound, then you'll heal his skin. He has to drink the antidote for it to work properly. We can't do more than that until we get a professional healer."

Dalish seemed to debate internally, then warily handed over Skinner's antidote. Ashe accepted it with as confident an air as she could muster, trying not to read too much into the action. They worked together to stabilize Stitches' torso and Ashe was moving to squat over the dark Fereldan man when a hand pushed her back down.

"Woah!" She pitched to the dirt, almost falling on the healer before Grim steadied her. He raised a gauntleted hand and ducked his chiseled features a bit in what she recognized as an apology, then pointed from her to her vials then got into position over the healer and grasped the arrow shaft.

"I can take the arrow out," Ashe said it like a question, but was mentally recognizing that Grim's way was more efficient if she'd understood him correctly.

"Grim can't talk much," Dalish interjected helpfully, drawing a line across her throat and jerking her chin at him. "And he's stubborn. Does this work with the plan, though?"

Ashe squinted, then stared. From her angle, she could see under the neck guard of his armor and right at the thick, pale scar that roped around the merc's neck like a collar. It bit deeply into the tanned, muscled cords of his neck, so much so that she was surprised that he'd survived the attempted murder - because there was no way that that was not caused by a garrotting wire.

He met her gaze with a stern look and she was reminded that she was gawping at him like a green healer who'd never seen anything besides a sprain in her life. "Right. Let's get to it. On three."

Ashe focused on stabilizing Stitches' torso with Dalish while Grim yanked out the viciously barbed arrow. She quickly poured the elfroot extract into the open wound then Dalish held her staff with one hand and hovered a trembling hand over the wound and called forth a gentle, sky-tinted light to seep into the crimson foam notched underneath Stitches' collarbone. Grim stood guard, peering into the surrounding farmland as the sun set. Ashe and Dalish rooted through Stitches' pack to find one of his poultices that infused the body and helped speed up healing of tissue and bones.

She didn't even realize that the other Chargers had gone until Krem returned alone, limping along the brook, as the sun sank behind an orange veil of clouds.

* * *

**Ashe Fayrel: female, elf, mage, x Tranquil - NONCOMPLIANT**

**Day 1: no sleep/food**

**Day 2: discipline**

Water splotches marred the ink on the fine parchment until:

**Day 7: receptive to technique.**

**Day 8: inspection with batch 2.**

The rest of the page was washed out.

Ashe stared at her name scrawled in spiky black ink in the journal. The tiny fire in the stone pit cast just enough light for her to read in the dark barn if she lay the small, thin book open in her lap. The briefly written summary of that week four months ago wasn't what she was looking for; she'd pored over the small leather-bound journal repeatedly ever since she'd swiped it from the Chargers a month ago.

Initially, she hadn't realized what a treasure trove of information the journal held until she'd rifled through the schedules of trade exchanges in the front of the book. Those pages had helped her plan and scout out other Venatori camps. Her stomach had dropped into her feet when her name jumped out in the pages when she'd looked through the journal a little further; a numbing static had drowned out all other thoughts when she found notes on the prisoners who had been with her four months ago, and vague references to an experiment. The pale grey fish eye that laid the blame of their capture and "pet project" at her feet surfaced in her mind when she'd read those pages; a ghostly remnant of a dream.

Chilled by the night, she quickly flipped to the beginning, chancing glances over at the sleeping and still figures of Stitches, Dalish and Rocky huddled close by, hoping she didn't breathe too loudly or that the gnawing black pit in her stomach didn't reach out and shake them awake. She snuck a glance at Grim, who was safely snoring in the darkened corner by the doors, vibrating the walls with the force of the snores emanating from his tousled mane. Skinner still hadn't returned from her advance scouting journey to Crestwood.

She was just starting to through the journal again for details she'd missed when the barn door creaked open, lancing in a shaft of moonlight. Her heart ricocheted around her rib cage; she stuffed the journal back up under her chest plate and she scrabbled quietly for her staff as a dark figure slid in silently.

This was it. Grim's snores had finally lured every bandit and their bandity friends nefariously through the hills and they were all going to be slain while they slept. Before she could kick Dalish and Rocky awake, the figure turned and she recognized the slicked back cap of hair and the shape of his armor.

Grim was already climbing to his feet with a quiet grunt, proving himself to be a light sleeper somehow. The two briefly spoke and Ashe was still awkwardly frozen, wondering if it were too late to lay down and pretend to be asleep. She felt like a child again, about to be caught staying up past her bedtime. The door creaked quietly shut as Grim slid outside, closing it gently behind him.

Firelight glinted off of Krem's armor as he trudged over to their huddle around the fire, favoring his right leg. Dirt had mixed with the sweat from the battle and dried on his temples, bone-deep weariness dragged his face and shoulders down. He looked around and seemed startled to see her.

"You're awake," he commented, finding a spot between her and Dalish and drooping down. Sitting seemed much more of a production than it should be with armor. "You should be the one snoring. We need you and Dalish rested if we're gonna get Stitches to Crestwood tomorrow."

Ashe was more awake than ever. She let go of her staff, pretending like she hadn't been prepared to simultaneously skewer him and catch her heart jumping out of her mouth. "You want the two wimpy elves to carry deadweight all the way to Crestwood? You're merciless."

His cheek twitched into a lopsided grin before he reined it back under an unimpressed look. "I'm sure a strapping young woman like you won't even need Dalish's help," he said seriously with a twinkle in his eye. He looked across the fire to Stitches' slumbering form.

"He's in the same condition as the last time you checked in," Ashe answered pre-emptively, holding her hands out to the fire. She'd sat as close to it as she could without actually sitting on the burning wood to escape the chill of the night and thoughts better left silent. "He woke up once to take the antidote. Dalish and I've been keeping an eye on him since."

Krem slouched with a nod and looked like he would sink into his armor and sleep like a turtle. He seemed not to notice its weight or bulk, and even managed to look comfortable in it. The silence stretched and she was about to start trying to get comfortable under her cloak when he suddenly asked, "how are you holding up? You're the one we pulled from a Venatori prison this morning."

Inwardly she reminded herself that he liked being nosy and was only checking up with her to hold up his end of the deal. But she marveled at it - who'd have thought that he'd be concerned about her a month after she'd poached from them? "Shoulder's fine. The poultice seems to be working," she answered, rubbing her arm. The cuffs felt a little tighter than they had this morning; she'd been trying to twist them off throughout the day and had ended up with some serious chafing. "My hands and wrists are freezing - but there's not much I can do about it besides stick the chain into the fire and hope I don't over-bake."

Krem sat up straighter and leaned towards her. "Can I see?"

She didn't know why everything suddenly became infinitely more detailed. She noticed how the chill of the air was suddenly crisp and pleasant, how the fire turned the tone of his skin golden and his eyes amber, how his sure movements cast graceful indigo shadows on the barn walls. His hands were gentle as he lifted her wrists to examine the cold cuffs which leeched the warmth from her bones - but she only noticed how he seemed to carry a current in the pads of his fingers, since every ghosting touch streaked electricity into her skin.

Goosebumps rippled up her forearms when he wrapped his large hands around the cuffs, his skin almost burning in its heat. "This may be a bit safer than burning your hands off," Krem said, not quite meeting her eyes. "You're more handy with uh... hands."

The pun only caught up to her mid-ramble. "Y'know, cauterizing amputation sites is still practiced in some areas of Thedas? I mean, sure, it stops the blood and pain at the stump, but it only sets you up for swelling in the interstitial sites and infection later on and possible compartment syndrome and trust me, draining the abscess will make you hurl everything you ate in the past year when you smell it."

She wished she hadn't talked as soon as her mouth stopped moving. He was looking at her in a faintly bewildered way, like when she'd started talking about Revas'sahlin. "Well, _I'm_ impressed," he said, "I have no idea what you just said, but I'm still impressed."

Ashe groaned, exasperated with herself. "It's not," she said, "they're all just fancy terms and most healers don't even use them. Skills are more important than terminology."

Krem was still grinning - she sort of wished he'd let go so she could crawl into Grim's corner and sleep if only to shut her mouth up. "How was working with Dalish?"

The blonde elf's hair shimmered in the fire's glow and cast the blood stains on her hands black. She'd rolled to curve her body loosely around Rocky's in her sleep and all the dwarf had done was snore, crack an eye open and glared grouchily at Ashe before settling back into sleep as the little spoon. Ashe smiled at that. "She's good with skin and good with direction when given tasks. Minimal sniping and everybody still has their head."

"I'm glad I didn't have to bury two more bodies with the bandits today," he said with a smile. "Although with our luck, a necromancer will wander by and pick a fight with us."

Her wrists were pleasantly warm now, but also kind of clammy. She was trying to think of a graceful way to take her hands back when he coughed and brusquely asked, "how do you feel, uh, magically? Do people ask that?"

She was still marveling at how all the nerve endings in her wrist seemed to be fizzing with energy. She pursed her lips in concentration. "Stop me if you're heard this before, but... the Fade is a realm, sure, but it's more than a separated world. If you have magic, not only can you feel the thickness of the Veil but also how it _moves_. It has a rhythm, a pulse. It bends and warps in reaction to the intangible: thoughts, emotions, perceptions, dreams. It's almost a living thing."

"You sound like Solas."

"Who?"

"A rotten egg. Continue, please."

"Well, I can't feel the Veil or the Fade now. The cheesy way I can describe it is like suddenly becoming deaf. But it's more like... instead of breathing air, I'm now breathing fog. Every breath should feel full of life, but it feels like breathing air that's already been breathed a hundred times before. I can't even dream anymore. I only know that I'm not tranquil because I still get grossed out when Rocky flicks his boogers."

She drank in his soft laugh and tried to wipe the goofy smile off her face. A small, companionable silence cocooned them, and she relaxed. She was starting to nod off when he shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I want to thank you. For making sure that Glen didn't have the taint and for helping him all night."

It was a little easier to face his sincerity even as she felt the edges of the journal dig into her ribcage, her insistent secret. "Yes, well, it'd put a damper on our deal if I let one of you die," she said flippantly, withdrawing her wrists nonchalantly from his hands and into her cloak. "Skinner might have killed me outright, then everyone would lose something. You guys and your rep, me and my life. Equal, all things considered."

There was a curious look in his eye as if he were trying to puzzle out her change in tone and the distance she'd created between them. Still didn't stop him. "Dodge it all you like, you're the one who diagnosed and directed Glen's care," Krem said persistently. "We'd be down a Charger if you weren't here."

She'd seen enough of how they acted with closeness and intimacy with each other under the rough exterior to know that when he said _Charger_ he meant _family_. While her wrists were warm for once, she felt loneliness well up inside her again, dividing her from this mercenary group she'd wormed into.

"You're welcome," Ashe said abruptly. Krem stilled in the act of stretching out between her and Dalish. She felt like she was churlish to ignore his thanks and still felt awkward enough to blurt something else out but she successfully kept her mouth closed and wrapped herself in her cloak. She only started to relax again when he finished settling, the static of the fire lulling her to sleep.

* * *

"I said I'm fine!" Stitches insisted, "Void take it, I'm not some noble scut - I can _walk_ to the tavern." The Fereldan man tried to sit up in the wagon bed but wilted back down, groaning, after seeing the landscape bump along past him.

"You ain't walking anywhere, old man," the hooded dwarf scoffed cheerily. He managed to keep up with the mule-drawn wagon, walking alongside it and chatting over the side. "You're gettin' slow in your twilight years. Ain't our fault you took a hurlock arrow. Skinner and me almost had to take you out."

"I'm only thirty-four, nug-turd. You're thirty!"

"Well, you're lucky you got out of a collapsing lung, poisoning, and the taint with just a fractured rib," Dalish called back tartly. She'd grumbled at the beginning about prejudice but lead the mule without complaint. "You'd be dead if Ashe weren't here."

"Where did you even get that stuff?" Rocky asked Ashe curiously. She was sitting inside the wagon bed, leaning against the side closest to where the dwarf was walking. "That blue stuff that tells if you're tainted or not. Fuckin' worth its weight in raw lyrium."

She could feel her blood pressure spike just from remembering. "I make it myself," she said tersely, "these... soulless assassins part of the Deadliners back around Redcliffe specialized in revenge. They'd scout the target's house, shoot a family member, sometimes the children, in a glancing blow with a tainted arrow and let them go back home. Then they'd barricade the doors and windows from the outside. 'Revenge through the generations' was their slogan."

There was a short silence where all they heard was the creaking of the wagon and the birds chirping in the morning sun. "Tell me you hunted them down and chucked them into the Deep Roads," Dalish said icily.

Ashe flashed a toothy grin. "I worked with the guards to catch them, strip 'em, and tossed them into one of the targeted houses. We barricaded it overnight and cleared it out the next day. I made the powder to see if the taint had spread in the village and it's was a lifesaver."

Rocky gave her a flinty smile and punched her in the shoulder. She winced and bore it, recognizing it as a friendly though painful gesture. "Work done right, poacher. Maybe you're better off with those hands attached after all."

The wagon lurched over a pit in the dirt road, making the contents of the wagon bounce and Ashe's behind smart when she landed. "I'll vomit on you and die if you don't slow down, Dalish!" Stitches threatened with a croak, "we aren't in a halla race you wild heathen!"

Rocky just shook his head, as Dalish snapped back at the Fereldan, a grin tucked under his thick mustache. " _Healers_ ," he said to Ashe, rolling his pale aquamarine eyes at the clear blue sky, "they're the worst patients." He trotted up to the front of the wagon where Dalish was leading the mule on foot, leaving Ashe and Stitches in relative peace.

Ashe suppressed a smile and checked her patient. He was miserably curled on to his side with his arm shielding his face, covered with the Chargers' cloaks and pillowed with their packs in the wagon bed. His color had returned to a healthy, burnished glow in the morning sun. The clammy skin was just a side effect of his motion sickness. All in all, he had recovered remarkably - the wound was a deep purple splotch under his right collar bone and his breathing was now normal. She'd been a little afraid that the taint would surface in him despite all of her precautions, but she breathed easier knowing that it usually manifested within twelve hours. She'd forced him to take the wagon that Rocky had found to avoid aggravating the hemothorax and rib fracture.

One thing niggled at her. "You're surprisingly calm for someone who has friends willing to murder them," Ashe pointed out low enough that Rocky and Dalish couldn't overhear.

Stitches lifted his arm and cracked open a watery eye at her with a grunt. "Good thing you were around so they couldn't. But it's what I asked 'em to do if I got hit by darkspawn."

She nodded, staring out at the flatter plains of Crestwood. They had passed the border an hour ago and Krem had said that they would reach the new Crestwood village in a day or two if they kept the pace up. As she watched the Hinterlands mountains get smaller behind Grim, who was taking up his usual post as rear guard, she wished she had friends who'd do the same... but perhaps not quite as quickly. "Friends aren't friends unless they're willing to kill you fresh," she agreed, overly-helpful.

Ashe studied Stitches as he lay with his arm across his eyes. His tightly curled dark hair was starting to recede from his lightly lined forehead. Old acne scars created shallow rivulets in his chestnut-brown cheeks, long since healed. His large ears balanced out the broad, pointed tip of his nose. He'd shown that he was moderate during their hike through the Hinterlands, offering steadiness against Dalish's arched words and Rocky's grousing. There was still something of the inner calm he seemed to carry with him on his face even in pain.

She was starting to consider how to take back the bad joke when he continued the conversation. "Twelve years ago, I had a wife and a small farm back in Lothering," he said, talking to the cloudless sky. "No one knew about the Blight until we were already waking up in bed with it. My wife was pregnant with our first and we couldn't run." He paused, his voice dipping. "You know how it usually goes. I couldn't protect my home or my family against the horde. Somehow, I woke up as myself. She didn't."

"Shit. That's..." All the unspeakable horrors of having a beloved family member return as a bloodthirsty darkspawn hung heavily in the air between them, wraithlike. The fact that his wife was pregnant... She looked at Stitches' face and could almost see it ten years younger, with less lines and the furrow between his brow completely erased.

He lifted his arm and made a face at her, almost as if he could see her adding another layer to him. "It's why I thank the Maker for having murderous friends, poacher. I could never do that to Laura."

She could feel her eyes about to fall out of her skull. "Not... your wife...?"

Stitches sat up, a small but true smile unearthed from the bleakness in his face. "My _second_ wife. She's in Crestwood village and about to have our first child. It's why I want to thank you, Serah Fayrel. I wouldn't be able to return to her without you."

She found herself gripping forearms with him in a soldier's greeting, surprised and a little bemused for being thanked for saving him from his friends. The Chargers were strange. "Serah me all you want, it's just Ashe. But, I will respond to Your Perfection, or even The Number One since the Champion and the Hero are both taken and there aren't any other synonyms at all."

He was looking at her like how Krem had last night, trying to puzzle out the distance. But he smiled and squeezed her arm before letting go. "Deflect all you want, 'it's just Ashe'. A healer learns to accept thanks when given, earned by your own hands or the hands of your team."

Ashe groaned at the dad joke then drew her hood and rubbed her hands like a villain. "Good thing I'm a lowly poacher then. I -"

"Hey Stitches, got someone for ya," Krem said, leading a gangly human toting a staff up to the side of the wagon as it lurched to a stop. "He's your applicant."

"Greetings, Serah Stitches." The tall, moon-faced man in his late thirties thrust his pale hand over the side to handshake. "My name is Dimitri Albion and we wrote about that healer position? I've just been eager to meet with you but I'm sure you'd like to settle into the Dragon's Breath first."

Stitches sat up a little straighter with a wince, and Ashe thought poorly of this (obvious) Circle mage who couldn't wait an hour for the Chargers to check into the tavern she could see just beyond a rolling hill. He wore a number of rings on both hands, a gaudy trend some Circle mages followed to flaunt their wealth and artifacts since some of them were enchanted. One of them was shaped similarly to the Inquisition eye.

"That would be appreciated, Serah Albion," Stitches returned graciously. "We will have the interview in a private room off the common room in an hour."

Dimitri bustled off without a word to Ashe and few greetings to the other Chargers, only acknowledging Krem and Grim. She frowned, knowing his type.

"Who are you hiring for?" she asked Stitches as the wagon started to move again, slower this time. "Is the Iron Bull looking to expand back into a company?"

He shook his head, eagerly watching the tavern grow nearer. Dimitri had disappeared over the hill. "I'm retiring, what with the baby and all. I want to be around for them and Laura will trounce me if I stay away any longer. The Chargers-"

A crack reverberated alarmingly close by, and the mule screamed as green light fractured the sky just beyond the hill where the trail led. The sound of billowing wind gusted from the pulsing cracks as it burned brighter and brighter, washing them with sickly pale light.

"It's the Fade," Ashe and Dalish shouted in unison.

" _For fuck's sake!_ "

* * *

**Note:** does anyone know of a forum/site/community where fanfiction writers encourage each other and give constructive feedback? It'd be great to bounce ideas off others! Preferably DA-centric.

Please leave a review! They're my crack!


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